The Imaginary Marriage eBook

It was all that he dared to say, the utmost to which
he could go. He knew that false hopes, raised
only to be crushed, were cruelty. And he had
never done that, never would. “There is
yet one ray of hope. He may live; I can say no
more than that, Miss Linden.”

And, little though it was, it was almost more than
she had dared to hope for.

CHAPTER XLI

MR. RUNDLE TAKES A HAND

Battered and sorely bruised, Philip Slotman lay on
his bed in the Feathers Inn in Little Langbourne,
and cursed his luck. Every time he moved he swore
to himself.

He was hurt in mind, body, and estate; he was consumed
by a great rage and a sense of injury. He had
suffered, and someone should pay—­Joan mainly,
after Joan, Hugh Alston. But it would be safer
to make Joan pay. Not in money. Alston had
insisted on it that he had nothing to expect in the
way of cash from Miss Meredyth.

Slotman lay writhing, and cursing and planning vengeance.
There were few things that he would not have liked
to do to Hugh Alston, but finally he decided he could
better hurt Hugh Alston through Joan, so thereafter
he devoted his thoughts to Joan.

The church bells of Little Langbourne Church were
ringing pleasantly when Philip Slotman, with many
a grunt and inward groan, rose from his couch.

Except for a slight discoloration about the left eye
and a certain stiffness of gait, there was nothing
about Philip Slotman when he came down to the coffee-room
for his breakfast to suggest that he had seen so much
trouble the previous evening. But there were some
who had seen Slotman come in, and among them was the
waiter. He put his hand over his mouth, and smirked
now at the sight of Slotman, and Slotman noticed it.

The bells rang no message of peace and good-will to
Mr. Slotman this morning.

Yes, Joan would be the one. He would make her
pay; he would hurt Alston through her, and hit her
hard at the same time. He would stay here at
Little Langbourne.

“Buddesby, sir?” said the waiter.
“Yes, sir. Mister John Everard’s place
about a quarter of a mile beyond the village.
Very interesting old ’ouse, sir, one of the
best farms hereabouts. Mr. Everard’s a well-to-do
gentleman, sir, old family, not—­”

“Oh, go away!”

The waiter withdrew. “Anyhow,” he
thought, “he got it all right last night, and
serve him right. Law! what a mess ’e were
in when he came in.”

A quarter of a mile beyond the village. Slotman
nodded. He would go. He remembered that
Alston had said something last night about this man
Everard, had suggested all sorts of things might happen
to him, Slotman, if he communicated in any way with
Everard.

“Anyhow I shall tell him, and unless he is a
born fool he will soon get quit of her. By thunder!
I’ll make her name reek, as I told her I would.
I’ll set this place and Starden and half the
infernal country talking about her! If she shews
her face anywhere, she’ll get stared at.
I’ll let her and that beast Alston see what
it means to get on the wrong side of a chap like me.”